


Those Sacred Things

by Scourge of Nemo (Disguise_of_Carnivorism)



Series: This, Our Season Of Fire [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Time Bottoming, Pegging, Strap-Ons, strap sex, strap-on blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disguise_of_Carnivorism/pseuds/Scourge%20of%20Nemo
Summary: Omera gently introduces Din to something new. He just hasn't had the time, before.Or: Din Djarin sucks cock and gets pegged.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Series: This, Our Season Of Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203575
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	Those Sacred Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is set vaguely in the middle of [How We Were Unburied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29960541).

They’ve finished dinner, cleaned the plates and put the small kitchen to rights. It was a pleasant evening, soft and slow and quiet — just him and Omera, as Winta’s out with friends. 

Din’s pretty sure that Omera has _designs_. 

That’s fine with him. It’s not entirely new — they’ve snuck furtive moments together, over these past weeks, fumbled sex in the dark as they hold their breaths, trying not to wake Winta in the other room. 

Din still gets oversensitive too quickly, especially if Omera touches his face or hands too often — he’s so used to keeping them covered that any gentle touch can make him yelp, sometimes with pleasure, but others with pain. And much of his body has odd pockets of lost sensation or hyper-sensation, places where scar tissue and injuries have made the nerves strange. 

But it’s… nice. Warm. Easy and sometimes slow, in a way he’s never had time for before. 

Still. It’s easier for him to touch Omera, to bring her off with his fingers or tongue, and push her hands away when she tries to touch him. 

They’re lounging at the kitchen table, now, taking their time to drink a light beverage — not alcoholic, but still celebratory.

He’s not sure what the celebration’s supposed to be. 

Without a word, Omera gets up from the table. She disappears to the bedroom and returns with a box. It’s mid-sized. Could contain anything. 

Oh, he’s _curious_. But he’s not going to ask. Omera likes small games, sometimes, and he’s happy to play them. 

There’s a bit of a smirk in her eyes, as she looks at him from across the table, and he’s wondering if that’s all about to get turned around on him. She looks… _determined_. And a bit playful. 

“So,” she says.

“So.”

“We’ve been having sex.”

“...Yes,” Din says. 

“But we haven’t talked about it.”

“No…” Din says.

“It seems like you’ve liked it, more or less.”

“...Yes?” He hates that his response sounds like a question. The glint in her eye grows. She’s smiling outright. Her hands are clasped, business-like, on the table. 

“So… what do you like?”

He stops to think about it. 

He’s had a decent amount of sex. Not a lot, he’s pretty sure, by most people’s standards. But enough. It just — he hasn’t really _talked_ about it. It’s been quick hookups, mostly with other warriors in the covert. But most of the other warriors found a spouse, clan, and he just — didn’t. He was gone too often, taking bounties, trying to keep the foundlings fed. And soon those connections melted away. He’s paid for sex, a few times, or found it from strangers in a cantina, but — quick mutual blowjobs or handjobs, nothing that involves taking off his beskar or particularly involved negotiation, with an outsider.

He doesn’t know how to talk about it, really. Even this much conversation is making him feel flushed. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t _know_ what he likes. 

He admits it finally: “I don’t know. I like… what we’ve been doing.” 

“You haven’t had sex before?” she asks, smirking. It’s a joke — they both know he’s had sex. But he finds himself smiling, and relaxing. 

“I just don’t know that I’ve… _liked_ much of it,” he says. And: “What do _you_ like?”

That’s easier. He doesn’t need to know what _he_ wants. He can just — give Omera more of what she wants. She knows. She’s had a husband, a long relationship, a _good_ one, where they had time to learn each other, to try things, to discover. Sometimes he feels jealous — not that she’s loved another man, but that he’s never had the opportunity to build something like that for himself, before.

That she knows the answers to these questions, and he doesn’t. 

Omera taps her lip thoughtfully. “Well, I know what I like. And I know what I _think_ you’d like. Something I’d like to try. But I’m worried it might be a bit… much.” 

Din swallows. His eyes dart to the box. “How… so?” 

“Well…” She opens the box. “You do get… overwhelmed pretty quickly.”

It’s — a dildo. A set of dildoes, actually. Okay. He’s seen dildoes. He can work with this. He hasn’t really _used_ one before, but it seems straightforward. A few of the women he’s hooked up with mentioned liking them, the way they feel, but toys always seemed to require too much foreplanning to bring into his quick forays. 

“Sure, I could fuck you with that,” he says, not seeing how it might be too much for him. He tends to lose track of things when Omera touches him too much.

“I was thinking more… that I would use it on you, actually.” 

Din’s mouth goes dry. He licks his lips. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him. He’s been fucked by a friend in the fighting corps, briefly and not particularly well. And he’s seen strap sex before, heard of it, on those rare occasions decades back when he still tried to buy sex. It always seemed too — time-consuming, too vulnerable. Who has the time to be laid out on their back like that, worked open and fucked? Not him. 

He has time now, though. 

The dildo set is some sort of composite material that looks yielding, but firm. They’re all different shapes and sizes — some with flared bases, others with bulbous tips. His eyes go to one in the middle, mid-sized, thick and smooth a little squat. 

He wonders what it might feel like, heavy on his tongue, filling his mouth, and he starts to salivate at the thought. That’s more familiar, something he’s done more often, on those occasions when other Mandalorians in the covert would blindfold each other and furtively try these games. 

He can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like elsewhere. He’s fingered himself before, but — 

Omera must take his silence for reticence or unfamiliarity. 

“It’s safer. I can’t get pregnant. And it’s…” She smiles, the glint in her eyes now properly wicked. “Usually very fun. For both of us.” 

“Yes,” he says, and he’s surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds. He clears his throat. “I mean… let’s try it.” 

So Omera closes the box, and starts to walk to the bedroom, leaving him to follow at his leisure. He sits there, for a few more moments, just… waiting. Feeling himself there, in that space, in his body. It’s something he never really had the luxury to do, before Sorgan. Before, he spent any down time looking for his next job, tracking bounties, tensed and waiting at all times. Now, he just breathes, and forces his shoulders to relax, and feels the cool evening breeze on his skin from the window. 

And then he rises.

Omera is waiting for him, gorgeous and bare in the dusk. She’s already folded her dress on the chair in the corner, taken some sort of harness from the box and stepped into it.

“Do you have a preference?” she asks, gesturing to the set, like she’s not asking him _how do you want me to fuck you?_

His stomach clenches at the choice. But he settles his hand on the one he’d eyed before, with its short, even shaft.

“Hmm,” she says, “I might’ve started with one that’s a bit… thinner.”

He shrugs, trying not to let show exactly how interested he is in this specific dick. “Let’s try this.” 

She settles it in, pushing it through the harness until it’s nestled amongst her dark curls, jutting forward. Din wants to help, wants to reach up and tighten the straps of the harness, shift everything so it’s positioned just so — but he doesn’t quite understand how the buckles and loops work, so he just watches. 

She steps towards him, grasps him by the hair at the back of his head, and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s wet, deep, probing right away — she doesn’t flirt with gentle pecks to encourage him to open, just tilts his head down towards her and plunges into him. A thrill runs through him, and he lets himself be pushed and pulled. He gasps for breath. He finds himself grasping at her elbows, for balance.

Her cock presses against his hip, slides up between them. It catches on his skin, a bit, and he thrills at the feel of it, now grinding softly into his stomach. She reaches between them, about to slick it up with lube. 

It seems like she has this planned, to some degree. But her motions remind him that he has something he wants to do first. He catches her hand. 

So he drops to his knees in front of her, kissing his way down her chest, playfully licking a nipple then nuzzling her stomach as he goes. Her skin tastes like the salt of dried sweat and the freshness of her scent. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she gasps, and he grins into her bellybutton. 

He runs his hands over her hips, thumbs the stretch marks on her belly and thighs. They’re beautiful. He rubs his face against them, kisses his way along them. She isn’t scarred like him, and like some of the other Mandalorians and hunters he’s had sex with — she has led a gentler life, despite all her hardship. But her body is strong and lean and calloused and bears marks of life all the same.

And then he takes her cock into his mouth. 

“Oh,” she says, “that’s right. Just like that,” and thrusts, just a little. Her fingers clench in his hair, and her nails scrape over the back of his neck.

A moan breaks out of him.

He widens his mouth, pushes down further onto her.

She’s looking down at him, her eyes dark, her mouth fallen open and face flushed. He makes eye contact for a moment, then looks away. It’s too much.

This is the first time he’s done this without a blindfold, when someone else can see his face or when he can see _their_ face, and he doesn’t know where else to look, so he just — closes his eyes.

He’s wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs for purchase, and he lets a finger play across the lips of her labia under the harness. He feels her free hand, the one that had been lubed, gently run over his face. It’s like a strike of lightning, and he moans again.

It’s different — her cock is stiff and unyielding on his tongue, lacks the musk and salty-sweet taste of the other cocks he’s sucked. But he can smell her musk, and feel the slick dripping down her thighs onto his fingers where he grasps her, and in so many ways it’s not that different at all.

Then he starts to lose himself in the sensations.

He can feel his face burning, his eyes watering, his mouth dripping with saliva. Omera settles her strong hand on his face, one thumb pressing down on his cheekbone as her fingers grip; the other tugs gently on his hair. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth as he hollows his cheeks and pushes down further around the cock. 

But he wants more.

He tries to urge her hips forward with his hands. But she pulls his head back, tilts his face up.

The action makes everything in his body heat up — it’s so gentle, so firm, so familiar. 

“Hang on,” she says, “I want to see your eyes.” 

He cracks them open, slowly, and is rewarded with a gentle smile. 

“You good?” she asks. 

He pulls off with a pop. “Come on,” he says, shocked by how rough his voice sounds, “give it to me.”

Her laughter is bright and sharp. He’s on his knees for her, adoring her, giving her pleasure. She’s strong and firm and gentle above him, and this is where he wants to stay, as long as he can. He slips two fingers into her, gently, and starts searching for the spot that makes her scream. He finds it quickly, and uses his purchase to lure her back into his mouth.

“Alright then, love,” she gasps and her knees tremble and she folds over a bit, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

And then she stops holding back, fucks him proper. Her hips thrust harder and her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing lines of fire across his scalp, and he takes her as deep into her throat as he can stand.

It’s just his fingers and her warmth around him, and his mouth full and tight, and her shivering and urging him on with soft compliments as he sucks and rubs and pushes the cock back into her clit. 

When she clenches around his fingers and keens, he grins around her cock. 

“This was… supposed to be about _you_ ,” she gets out, between sharp breaths. 

“Well, I enjoyed myself,” he says with a grin, and sucks her juices from his fingers. 

She grabs him by his shoulders and ushers him up. “Bed,” she says, “come on.” 

As she herds him back, pushes him onto the bed, that wicked glint is back in her eyes, and Din knows he’s in for it. She slicks up her cock and braces her arms on either side of him to thrust wetly against his belly. Then she’s kissing him, and his world narrows to her mouth wet in his mouth and her cock pressing against his own arousal. 

For a moment they just rut against each other, his cock red and flushed and harder than he’s been in ages, hers pressing against him in a strange mirror of mutual masturbation that feels _good_. 

“Thanks for getting my cock nice and wet, but we’re going to need some more,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” Din gasps, throat raspy, eyes gritted shut. He adds, barely able to catch his breath, “that’s fine.”

Her lube is in her hands. And then one single, slick finger presses gently into him. It’s — strange as it was the last few times he tried, and tight, and a bit uncomfortable at first, but the lube feels cool on his feverish skin. He can’t stop himself from admiring how strong her hands are, how calloused and muscled her fingers are from hard work and living. Then her finger finds a spot that sends lightning through him, and his own cock is dripping precum, and this is _Omera_ , in him, and her mouth is wet on his neck as she stripes long licks and —

“Oh, you make such _fun_ noises,” she whispers, then licks his ear and pushes her finger into him again, stroking.

He doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed, but he knows he’s whimpering and jolting more than he ever has with Omera, maybe more than he ever has with _anyone_ , because this is just — 

And then she licks his neck, and suddenly it’s all too much. 

“Less — less neck, please —” 

She’s easing off, right away reverting to gentle kisses. 

“Okay,” he breathes, trying to calm his rushing heart, “go ahead.” 

“Ready for another finger?”

He can’t get the words out, just nods desperately and pushes into her, flings an arm over his face so he doesn’t have to think about anything but the sensations. 

“You’re going to need at least three to take this,” she says, a grin in her voice. 

“That’s fine,” Din manages. 

And then Din sort of — loses track of things, a bit. Omera pushes his legs up to finger him open, adds a third finger, then a fourth. Somewhere along the line he comes all over his stomach, oversensitive and twitching, but she doesn’t touch his cock and she doesn’t stop fingering him. It’s just Omera’s voice, leading him through it, rough and low. He tries to move his arm from his eyes to his mouth, to muffle his noises, but she pulls it away. 

“I want to hear,” she says.

“The _entire village’ll_ hear,” he says.

“Don’t care,” she gasps, and he tries to keep his sounds low, but how can he resist?

So he’s whimpering and keening, and she’s working into him, and then — she stops, and gently pulls out, her hand slipping from him.

She stretches over him to kiss him, again. 

Then:

“I want to fuck you,” she whispers, and her breath feels like a brand on the shell of his ear. 

“ _Please_ ,” he gasps, desperate at the thought of her body covering him, her cock driving into him.

So she slicks up her cock, and she pushes in. He takes her easily, after all the preparation, but she gives him a moment to adjust to the stretch and burn of it all. Her breasts press against his chest, and the harness scritches against him, and his legs splay around her, and her cock brushes _perfectly_ against him, flares at the base. They’re both sweaty and slick as she slides over him. 

It was all already so much, and his cock is just slowly dripping, and they’re both smeared with his cum and everything smells like sex and he can’t stop — his hands grasp at the sheets beneath them, gripping frantically as he groans. 

She thrusts into him, just a handful of times, and he’s _coming again_ , or something like it, but he’s never — his vision whites out. He can’t breathe.

“Okay,” he says, trying to pat at her shoulder, but he can’t really aim, can’t — “I’m — I’m done —” 

And then she is pulling out of him, and oh isn’t _that_ something on its own, a new sensation for him to think about — and —

He can’t open his eyes. Every muscle in his body is tense, has been trembling for what feels like hours. His limbs feel heavy, exhausted. He reaches for Omera, but she’s slipping away, and he hears the rustle of her putting on a robe and the creak of her in the other room. 

She comes back up with a wet rag, briskly wipes down and sanitizes the toy, then gently wipes the mess from his skin. Any other day, he’d be equally interested in this part of the proceedings, but he doesn’t have the energy. Now that he’s had a moment to breathe, he feels — loose, and happy, and floating, in a way he’s never felt before. Then she settles in to hold him.

He’s still breathing hard. The room still smells like them, even after they’ve tidied up. 

“Good?” she asks. Her breasts press against his back, and her arms wrap around him. It’s warm, comforting, grounding. The buzzing in his skin has quieted, for once; her fingers wander over him, and everything feels soft and dull and pleasant. 

He takes her hand, squeezes it between his fingers. Feels her callouses against his.

“I’d do it again,” he says — and understatement. He’ll be thinking about it for weeks; his mind will wander to these moments in the middle of the day, at inopportune times, until she’s fucked it out of him just like this again, and again, and again. Maybe she’ll never be able to fuck it out of him. “You?” His voice squeaks, as he asks.

She smiles against his neck, a curve of lips. “Oh, I think I could bring myself to,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “You make _really_ good noises, apparently. I didn’t know that about you. You’re always so _quiet_." She smacks his arm gently. 

He huffs a laugh. Later, he’ll think about feeling safe and calm enough, about what it means that he can fall into this strange bubble of peace for long enough to take the time to be vulnerable. Now, though, he is just exhausted.

Within moments, he’s asleep, wrapped in the safety of her arms. 


End file.
